“What is this?” Thaddeus demanded, forgetting for a moment that he was no longer a high-ranking member of House Whispering Pines.
“Who wants to know?” one of the men returned.
His two conscious companions seemed to find that very amusing.
“Where’s Jocasta?”
“Who cares?”
“Get up!”
The man who was doing the talking gazed at Thaddeus, then slowly climbed to his feet with a sigh. He stood in front of Thaddeus, arms at his sides and looked him up and down.
“Well? I’m up. You don’t look in much condition to do anything about it.”
“No? Well, maybe you’re right.”
He muttered his spell and a puff of smoke came from the man’s shirt front. In less than a second, he was aflame, fire shooting up his front. He cursed, then screamed and began to beat at his own torso, trying to put it out.
As quick as it came, Thaddeus extinguished it. The man was a little singed, and it would sting for the next few days, but otherwise he was unharmed.
“Let’s try this again,” Thaddeus said. “Where did you say Jocasta was?”
“I don’t know! She’s gone off somewhere!”
“Then who’s acting as Head of House?”
“She is! I mean, she didn’t appoint anyone else. At least not that we’ve heard.”
Thaddeus paused to think.
“What about a healer? Are there any here?”
The man shrugged, a hint of his former bravado returning already. His friends had sat by impassively during the whole exchange and had barely even stirred when Thaddeus lit him on fire.
“Mel? Anything you can get?”
Melanie stepped past him and put her hand on the man’s face. He flinched back, then went still, his eyes rolling up in his head.
“I’ve been trying while you were playing with him. There’s something there, but it’s hard to tell…”
She closed her own eyes, then shuddered, opened them and stepped back. The man in front of her sank down to his knees, then lay down on the floor and promptly went to sleep.
“Something is really wrong here,” Melanie said. “Whatever is going on, that guys mind felt sort of like that thing in your cell. He’s still in there, but changed.”
“Changed? What’s that supposed to mean?”
She shook her head. “It’s hard to explain. It’s like his personality is still there, but something is overlaying it, and is taking all the worst parts and bringing them out. Whatever it is, I can’t get a hold of it. Like that thing.”
“We need to find Jocasta. Maybe now she’ll believe us.”
They turned away from the four servants and started toward the stairs leading down.
“Where now?” Melanie asked.
“Out,” Thaddeus said. “The healers are usually in another tree if any of them are around. Let’s start there. Once we’re in better shape, we can make a better plan.”
They walked down the stairs and across the hallway to the large entry doors. Behind them, the main tree of House Whispering Pines felt strangely empty.
Thaddeus had grown up here and there were always people around. Servants, relatives, council members, visitors. Now, it was quiet. It reminded him of the Rustling Elms tree, only not as corrupt. Maybe this was what it felt like as it started to fall, he thought.
Could Malachi have sent in more Soul Gaunts? Were there really any left after Solomon?
From the doors, Thaddeus could see that the day was staring to wane. He had no idea how long he’d hung in that cell before Melanie saved him. Now though, it was heading toward night. They’d look for a healer, and if they couldn’t find one, he’d take Melanie to one of Florian’s cottages, as he referred to them. Maybe the same one where he had convinced the human Luke to join him.
A noise from the top of the stairs behind them caused his blood to run cold and his steps to falter. One short, sharp whistle.
That thing in his cell had whistled like that.
Both he and Melanie turned at the same time.
This one didn’t wear bright yellow. Its clothes were an eye-stinging orange, and its hair was pulled up into a crazy spiral. It was a woman or had been at some point. The white mask was identical to the other one however, and it was pointed in their direction.
It started to whistle a tune, stopped, began another, and stopped that one. It took a step down the stairs, punctuated with a short blast of noise, then another. Back to the tune. It was distracting and irritating.
“I hate those things,” Melanie said, and moved her hands.
The thing stopped, mid-step, one foot frozen in the act of moving onto the lower step.
“Me too,” Thaddeus agreed and lit it on fire.
Control, he thought. Burn it to ash, leave the stairs unharmed.
It took several minutes, but when it was done, the only thing remaining of the weird creature was a pile of smoking ash and a horrible stench in the air.
“You’ve come a long way,” a voice said behind them.
They turned slowly. The man’s eyes were tired but watched the two of them with interest.
“Darius,” Melanie growled and moved toward him.
“Wait!” Darius put up his hands and backed away. “I have something to tell you. Something important.”
“Why should we listen to you?” Melanie said. “You’re Malachi’s lapdog.”
Darius nodded. “I was, yes, I admit that. And I helped him take you. I’m not trying to deny it. But things have changed. We need to talk.”
Thaddeus put his hand up, waist high, silently asking Melanie to stand down.
“About what?”
“About how we can stop Malachi and what he’s doing. I need to speak to Jocasta. Our only hope is to join Whispering Pines and Towering Oaks together.”
Thaddeus snorted. “Might be a little late for that.”
“Maybe. Things are getting bad at Towering Oaks. And they look worse here. Still, it’s our only option.”
“Do you really think anyone at Towering Oaks is going to listen to me? After what happened?”
Darius shrugged. “If you have the right person vouching for you maybe.”
“And that’s you?” Thaddeus laughed.
“No. Not me. Her.”
He stepped aside, and a tall, thin woman gracefully entered the tree. Her eyes bored into Thaddeus. For a moment, he wanted to turn and run, but he forced himself to remain steady and meet her gaze.
“Hello, Willow,” he said.
Chapter 60
Solomon slowly approached the grieving Yag-Morah. Her father’s chest no longer rose and fell. Solomon had come too late.
He had known it. When he saw the hunters run past this morning, he knew they were returning from here. But seeing it made it all the harder. Again, he had failed.
“Yag-Morah,” he said quietly, gently putting his hand on her shoulder.
She looked up at him in surprise.
“Gan-Solomon. What are you doing here?”
“I don’t know. I was trying to get here to warn you about…” He dropped his hand and his gaze. “I didn’t make it in time. I’m so sorry.”
Yag-Morah sighed and carefully removed her father’s head from her lap. She rose to her feet, towering over Solomon, her brilliant green eyes filled with sadness.
“It’s not your fault, Gan-Solomon. It’s whatever is wrong with this world.”
“I should have made it here sooner.”
“Did you tarry unduly on the way? Did you stand idly by and wait for our attackers to finish before you came?”
“No, of course not.”
“Then how could this be your fault in any way? You didn’t bring this evil here and you tried to come and warn us. You have done more than most would have.”
“Not sure about that…” Solomon muttered.
He appreciated what Yag-Morah was doing. Even in her grief, she was taking the time to try to set his mind at ease. A fact that made
him feel selfish.
“You’re right, Yag-Morah. I am sorry that I wasn’t in time to help when it was needed, but what can I do now?”
Yag-Morah looked around the camp.
“We need to clean up and bury our dead, both those of the Mar-trollid and the cows that were our friends. After that…we’ll see.”
“Then I’ll do that.”
For the rest of the day and into the night, Solomon labored. He helped to right wagons, fix wheels and dig graves. The Mar-trollid dug individual resting places for each lost soul as well as for their animals. By the time they were done, even Solomon was covered in sweat and dirt, and felt exhausted.
Yag-Morah found him resting against a wagon wheel. She handed him a large cup.
“Here, this will help.”
“Thank you.” Solomon eagerly accepted the drink, remembering how well Yag-Morah’s teas worked.
This one had a citrusy flavor to it that refreshed him and eased the aching in his back and arms.
“Come,” Yag-Morah said. “It’s time to say goodbye.”
Solomon wasn’t sure what to expect. He envisioned solemn processions, perhaps words of comfort and wisdom, and maybe even songs.
Instead, the Mar-trollid silently placed their loved ones in the graves by the light of lanterns and torches. They bowed their heads for a few moments, some staying longer than others, and then quietly began covering the bodies over.
“That’s it?” he asked Yag-Morah when Gan-Rowe was laid to rest.
“It’s merely the next stage of their journey,” she replied. “They will go on now, find new places to see and new paths to explore. And someday, we may meet them again.”
“That’s a beautiful way of thinking.”
“Don’t mistake me, Gan-Solomon. We miss their presence in our lives. But we cannot be sad for them.”
They walked back to Yag-Morah’s wagon in silence after that.
All around them, the Mar-trollid were loading supplies into wagons. Parents called to children to come and cows were hooked to their traces.
“You’re leaving,” Solomon said.
Yag-Morah nodded. “We are. It’s time for us to move on. From this area, and perhaps from this world.”
“You have a way of doing that?”
Solomon was surprised she hadn’t mentioned it before, when he told her was searching for Celia and a way back home to the Greenweald.
“We do,” she said. “Far from here. A journey of several weeks.”
Solomon nodded.
“I wish you a good journey, Yag-Morah.”
“Thank you, Gan-Solomon. And you? What will you do?”
“I’ll return to Dunfield. I found her, you know. Celia, I mean.”
“I’m glad. And was your reunion everything you had wished?”
He smiled sadly. “No. I needed to give her news of her own father’s passing, and my role in it.”
“Perhaps she will come to feel differently as time passes.”
“Perhaps. In the meantime, we’re going to try to help the people of Dunfield. There’s something going on there. Something more than what the hunters did here.”
“How do you mean?”
“Here, they only killed. They didn’t try to take anyone away with them. It was like they knew they couldn’t corrupt the Mar-trollid as they did the people in town, so instead they tried to eliminate them. I think that you moving on is wise. They’ll come back to try to finish the job.”
“We fought them, you know,” Yag-Morah said. “Although we’re not warriors, we are not weak either. We killed a few of them, too, and threw their bodies on the fires.”
“Really? No wonder I didn’t see any. Good. That’s less we have to deal with back in Dunfield.”
“And your way home? Have you given up on that?”
“No. Not at all,” Solomon said. “It’s there in the town somewhere, I’m sure of it. But… we can’t leave the people like that. Good people are there still. Some are taking advantage of the current situation, and some have been corrupted by whatever evil is making those hunters, but there are plenty who are just scared.”
“So it’s up to you to save them.” Yag-Morah sounded almost amused.
Solomon shrugged. “I don’t know about all that. But whatever is going on, it doesn’t seem to have the same effect on Celia and me. If we can help, we will. Then we can go home.”
They reached the wagon and Yag-Morah started up the steps. Solomon had repaired the door as best he could, so she opened it and stepped inside.
“Wait here one moment,” she said, turning her back to him.
Solomon waited while inside there was the noise of items being moved around. A few minutes later, Yag-Morah reappeared with a good-sized leather sack.
“Take this,” she said, coming back down the steps.
Solomon took it while around them, several of the Mar-trollid wagons started to move.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Tea, of course,” Yag-Morah answered. “It may help. A sprinkle in a cup of water should be sufficient. It comes from plants that don’t grow anywhere around here. Rare, and highly prized.”
“This is a generous gift. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Use it when it feels like darkness is closing in. It may bring light to your soul.”
She bowed to Solomon. He smiled, then moved forward and hugged her. She stiffened in surprise, then returned it.
“Good-bye, Yag-Morah,” he said, releasing her. “I’m glad I met you and the Mar-trollid. May your journey be safe and fruitful.”
“And yours, Gan-Solomon,” she said. “I hope our paths cross again.”
She climbed to the top of the tall wagon and took up the reins, chucking them once and setting the cows in motion.
Solomon watched her and the rest of the Mar-trollid wagons disappear into the darkness. Then, he hefted the bag Yag-Morah gave him and turned back to Dunfield.
Chapter 61
Darius thought the Towering Oaks room was surprisingly pleasant. It was in a tree that was off to the side, midsized by Greenweald standards. The couch he was laid on was comfortable and allowed access from both sides. There was a soft breeze from open windows and the smell of flowers in the air, and Darius fought hard to keep his eyes open.
“Rest,” Willow told him.
“Can’t yet.” His voice was little more than a mutter. “Got things to do.”
“You can do them later. For now, sleep is the best thing for you.”
His eyes grew even heavier.
“Going to be here when I wake up?”
“Yes.”
Willow’s voice seemed to come from far away, and he wasn’t sure he heard her. Still, it was enough to make him smile.
When he opened his eyes Willow was still there, seated in a chair near the open window, gazing out. Darius lay still and studied the healer. She was beautiful. Her every move spoke of grace and refinement, and her eyes seemed to look directly into his soul whenever she glanced at him.
If only he could turn her, make her one of his own House… but… did he really want to? Did he really want Malachi to get his hooks into her the way he had Darius?
No, he decided. Some things needed to be left alone. And Willow was one of those things.
The sigh that escaped him alerted her to his waking. She turned from the window and rose, bringing her chair over to his side. She sat, took his hand and studied his face.
“What?” Darius asked, a chuckle entering his voice.
Willow only continued to stare at him, a small frown creasing her features.
“Is something wrong?” he tried again. He didn’t feel like something was wrong. As a matter of fact, now that he was more awake, he realized that he felt better than he had in a long time. His wounds no longer ached, although there was still that sick ball of fear and worry in the pit of his stomach, and the sense that something was sitting over his heart.
“Yes,” Willow finally said. She took her ha
nds from his. “I worked on you while you slept. Healing your injuries.”
“Well, no wonder I feel so much better.” He reached for her hand again, but she shifted out of his reach. He smiled to mask his disappointment.
“You are aware that this House, Towering Oaks, took the brunt of the attack from the Soul Gaunts not long ago, aren’t you?”
“Of course. My House came in at the end, but by then, it was really to mop up what was left of Glittering Birch.”
“Correct. Solomon had already done his work, and Jediah sacrificed himself, before Whispering Pines came. But the injuries to many, many members of this House were severe. I worked on a good number of them myself.”
“I’m sure you did,” Darius said. “I’m afraid I don’t understand why you’re—”
“Soul Gaunt injuries leave a certain signature,” she cut him off. “A lot of wounds do, but those in particular. You learn to recognize it. They’re hard to heal, leaving a sort of pestilence behind that fights you.”
“I see.” Darius’s blood ran cold, afraid that he knew exactly where Willow was heading with this.
“Your wounds,” she said, looking directly at him, “were not caused by a Soul Gaunt. Were they?”
Darius could only stare back at her. His mouth opened, a lie on his lips, but it died unsaid. It would do no good, and he didn’t want to lie to her.
Instead, he turned from her and clasped his hands together.
“No, they weren’t.” He kept his voice quiet, under control, not wanting to spew it all at once. “They were given to me by Mala—”
The scream tore out of him before he could stop it.
A cold presence seemed to reach into his chest and squeeze his heart, sharp claws digging into it. His gut exploded with fire, which ran up his throat. His head was being squeezed in a vise so that his eyes bulged from his face.
“Darius! What is it? Where does it hurt?”
Willow was bent over him, her face a mask of concern, and her hands moving over him.
He tried to answer her, but his throat closed and the tendons in his neck stood out. He stretched, then folded into a ball, writhing and squirming on the bed. His mouth gaped like a fish, but he couldn’t draw any air into his lungs. His heart started to beat faster, struggling against whatever force was restricting it.
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